


Both Of Us

by neighborhoodninja



Category: Swimming RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 15:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neighborhoodninja/pseuds/neighborhoodninja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two weeks is too long to shut someone like Michael Phelps out of your life, especially if you're Ryan Lochte.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Both Of Us

Ryan watches the girl pick up her stuff off the floor and give him that _fuck you, you motherfucker_ look that sometimes only girls can give.

Sometimes.

Michael gave him that same look two weeks ago, when he was packing up his bags and leaving, too.

"So, bye, Ryan. Have a nice life." She mutters, already yanking the door open.

"Yeah." he says under his breath, but she slams the door and probably doesn't hear anything, but he doesn't really care anyway.

Ryan flops back onto the bed, rubbing his hands over his eyes and trying to just erase everything. Maybe Michael wasn't good form, he tries to convince himself. He was too…distracting. It was for the best.

But all he can see in the darkness of his palms is Michael, sprawled out on his bed and laughing, wrecking his kitchen as he tried to make them breakfast, singing out of tune to any Lil Wayne song, pick any one, he'd know it.

"Fuck." Ryan murmurs, rolling onto his stomach and grabbing his iPhone off the nightstand. he scrolls through his photos, stopping against his will at the ones of Michael, who he's taken in pretty much every pose possible. Something drops in Ryan's chest when he comes across one where Michael's wrapped up in one of his huge Florida Gators hoodies(and nothing else), and he's just smiling that annoying-as-fuck infectious smile of his. He feels a pang of anger that a simple photograph of Michael can do this to him, and he throws his phone down onto the pillow, like it's all its fault that his emotions are attacking him.

It was never going to last, he tells himself.

Ryan angrily strips out of his clothes until he's just standing around in his boxers, feeling kind of like an idiot. He suddenly has a weird craving for instant ramen, and he stomps down the hall to heat up a carton.

Michael would always make this when he was too lazy to actually cook, his brain says, and Ryan tells it to shut the hell up.

Ryan slumps back up the stairs, feeling a little depressed now, after he takes one bite of the noodles and spits it out. It doesn't taste the same. he wraps himself up in his sheets and inhales deeply, burying his nose in the fabric and wondering if Michael's scent is still buried in them. And there it is, somewhere under that girl's sickly perfume, there it is. It's almost intoxicating, a mix of Ryan's own cologne, Michael's shampoo, and just his skin. Ryan remembers waking up to that scent, and that bare skin, usually with a few dark hickeys on it from the night before. 

Ryan wants to scream. He wants to call Michael right that second and beg for mercy, for forgiveness, but he also has to hold his ground, because he started this mess and god fucking dammit he's not going to lose this time.

But fuck it, he can't stand it anymore.

The five girls he's had overnight through the past fourteen days have been a desperate attempt to try to get around the emptiness in his apartment that Michael used to fill. The day after he left, Ryan realized just how much of his life revolved around Michael, and how no now else could do to him what Michael does. Or, used to do.

"Screw this!" Ryan yells at his phone, slamming his finger down onto the contacts icon. He taps "Michael", then "iPhone", and digs the phone into his ear, crossing and uncrossing his legs and flipping the TV remote between his fingers.

Michael picks up on the fourth ring.

"Hello?"

Ryan suddenly feels his vocal cords stop up and his heart start pounding.

"Um, who is this?"

Ryan clears his throat and takes a deep breath. "Um…hey, Michael." But all he gets in return is silence. "Michael?" He pulls the phone away from his face to make sure Michael hasn't hung up on him. "Uh, can you hear me?"

There's more painful silence before Michael finally answers him. "…What do you want?"

Ryan exhales. At least Michael's talking to him. "Um, I just wanted to…you know…" he sighs. "Michael, can I just talk to you? Please?"

He can hear Michael's breathing on the other end. "About what?"

Ryan struggles to come up with a response. "Michael, I…" he coughs, voice getting raspy. "Look. Can…do you mind if I…"

Here goes.

"Can I come up to your place tomorrow?"

There's a long pause. "Uh, why?"

"Just to…to talk. I just wanna talk." Ryan waits, holding his breath.

"Yeah, I guess you can."

Ryan can literally feel his brain spin around and around in his skull. "Okay. Thank you so much."

"Whatever."

Ryan's about to blurt out something, he doesn't know what, but he looks at his screen and sees that Michael's already hung up on him.

Ryan sighs again, putting his phone away and laying back down against his pillows. He can't even remember what he and Michael were fighting about, just that it was some fucking stupid thing that he regrets so much now. And he can feels that regret slowly eating away at this insides. Ryan can still hear the slamming of the door, the rumble of Michael's engine, their yelled insults still echoing around the walls of his house.

And he can't fucking deal with this anymore.

Ryan hates having Michael angry, he has to admit to himself. He'd thought, in the hours after their fight, that this would be almost gratifying, in whatever sick way he'd imagined. It would be good to let loose for a while. And all couples are supposed to have their demons, right? Ryan had pictures a week passing, then Michael would came crawling back to him on his hands and knees, pleading for Ryan to take him back. In his mind, Ryan would laugh cruelly and turn him away with a wave of his hand. But a week had passed, then another, and there wasn't so much as a missed call beeping up on his phone. And now Ryan was the one desperately calling Michael up, asking if he could just talk.

Because, in all honesty, Ryan missed Michael so much that the sound of Michael's voice, even transmitted through the grainy signal of a cellphone, was enough.

Ryan catches himself yawning and turns the light next to his bed off, pulling the blankets tightly around himself. He falls into restless sleep, among dreams that are more memories than figments of his imagination.

 

"Fine! Just GO!"

Ryan's eyes snap open at the shouts carrying down the hall. Slightly dazed, he stumbles out of bed and out the door, where he stops dead in his tracks.  
He sees himself in the hallway, and Michael at the other end, suitcase in his hand.

"Fuck you! I don't need you fucking permission for everything for everything, do I?" Michael screams back, stalking up to the Ryan with the red face and clenched fists.

Ryan swallows hard as he looks at himself. Even he's a little frightened of himself in the moment.

"Oh, shut the fuck up and go deep-throat a knife. No one would give a fuck, anyway. I sure as hell don't." Ryan sees himself sneer and get up into Michael's face. "Go ahead, leave me." He laughs, a cruel, harsh sound that Ryan didn't know he was capable of making. "Your dad didn't give a fuck about doing the same to you. You must get it from him."

Ryan sees now that that one hit Michael pretty hard. He watches the walls of Michael's face close down, and Michael looks like he's about to spit on dream/reality Ryan. 

"Shut the fuck up, Ryan, and just go fuck yourself. No one else will."

Ryan feels his heart drop as Michael turns on his heel and stalks out, slamming the door behind him. He sees himself just stand there, just do nothing except to stare at the closed door. Ryan wishes he could reach into himself and jumpstart his heart or something, something that would make him realize just how much he's going to regret this.

But he can't, and Ryan's forced to watch himself just let Michael go. In his dream, Ryan walks past himself and out the door, in a bit of a daze. Time seems to be turning to stone, and the air around him feels cold and hard as he steps outside into what would normally be a sunny Florida day. Ryan feels dizzy and unsure of what's propelling his body down the block, because it sure doesn't feel like he's in charge of himself anymore.

It's then that he sees that Michael's car is parked about a foot away from where's he's come to a stop. Michael is sitting on the curb, legs drawn up in front of him, his head resting on his knees. Something pushes Ryan to go and sit next to him.

"Hey." Ryan says softly.

"Hey." Michael replies, wiping something off his face. The back of his hand is wet when he pulls it away. A stab of guilt pokes through Ryan's chest at this, and he slides a hand around the small of Michael's back, pulling him close.

"Michael, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean it." He hears himself say, because it feels like he's not the one talking anymore.

"Yeah, well, that stung." Michael manages a small smile, then something softens in his face. He reaches a hand up to touch Ryan's cheek. "Ryan, you know I love you."

Ryan's heartbeat speeds up. "I love you too. I love you so much, Michael, you don't even know how sorry- "

"Shh." Michael leans in, wrapping an arm around his neck. "That's all we need."

Michael's lips are almost on his when Ryan jolts awake.

 

The next morning, Ryan takes the Tripper Bus up to Baltimore. It drops him off at the ratty outskirts of the city, and he has to hurriedly flag down a cab to take him into the more urban area where Michael lives. He tries to plan out a speech on the way there, arguing with himself the whole ride.

"Michael, I am so fucking sorry for what I said. Please forgive me." he mutters to himself in the backseat, thankful that there's a glass divider between him and the front seats. "Nah, too casual. Michael…I'm really sorry. I hope that you can forgive me.

In the end, he decides to make it short and sincere, like he usually tries to with most people. This is different, though. This is Michael. And Ryan has no idea how he's going to react. Michael can be a stubborn asshole sometimes, but others, he's like Ryan's personal Care Bear, all "I love yous" and warm kisses. Ryan imagines himself being thrown out a window with a "Fuck off, loser!" screamed after him, and prays to the Lord that Michael's in a reasonable mood today.

As they near the apartment building, Ryan starts to feel a little sick. _What if he really does just boot my ass out the door and tell me to, like, never come near him again?_ Ryan thinks, gnawing on one of his already chewed-to-pieces nails. Doubt bubbles up in his stomach, and he feels a chill slowly settle over his skin. Fuck it. His hands are actually sweating.

"Okay, you can, uh, stop here." Ryan croaks and the cabbie looks back, puzzled.

"But, sir- "

"It's fine. I'll walk."

Ryan quickly pays and tips him generously, then grabs his stuff out of the trunk and walks as fast as he can to Michael's apartment, afraid that if he stops for a second, he'll just turn back around the way he came. He waves half-heartedly at the clerk, who knows him by now.

"Floor six, Ryan." She reminds him, and Ryan gets the uneasy feeling that she knows exactly why he's there.

He takes the agonizingly slow elevator up the six floors, heartbeat speeding up with each passing level and bing of the doors opening. He rushes out when it finally reaches the sixth, not daring to wait a second more.

Ryan has to take three calming breaths before he rings the doorbell of Michael's apartment. 

_Please be home._ Ryan finds himself praying after ten solid seconds of silence. He jiggles the doorknob impatiently, wondering if the place was left open.

"Ryan?" A low voice says from behind him, and Ryan's eyes widen. 

He turns around and Michael is standing a few feet away, a Whole Foods bag in his hand.

 _Of course, the classy fucker goes to Whole Fucking Foods._ "H- hey, Michael." Ryan squeaks, stepping away from the door and unsticking his hand. "I wasn't like, trying to break into your place or something, uh... "He slaps himself internally.

"Yeah." Michael waves his hand dismissively, rolling his eyes and brushing past Ryan. Ryan inhales, he can't help it, and there it is, Michael's scent, and fuck it if he doesn't have to clap a hand over his mouth to keep it from letting out a sigh.

He hears the jingle of keys and realizes that Michael's already inside the apartment, kicking off his shoes. "You coming?"

Ryan swallows and follows Michael inside, shutting the door behind him.

"Want juice?" Michael asks, leaning into the refrigerator, but it's more of a command: want juice.

"That would be great." Ryan says, going carefully to the kitchen island and planting his butt on the edge. Michael hand him a glass of orange juice, and their eyes meet. Michael's narrow immediately, flicking downward to stare down into his glass.

Ryan takes the time to just look at Michael. He's basically the same, just clean-shaven. His hair, as always, is scruffy and the front is sticking straight out and up, pretty much all over the place.

Ryan has to remember that they're fighting to prevent himself from launching off the counter and attacking Michael's mouth with his own.

"So." Michael says, setting his untouched juice on the counter with a loud clink. Whoa. Ryan didn't know that could be so intimidating. "Why, exactly, are you here?"

Ryan draws in a deep breath. "Um, I…I…" Michael's not taking his eyes off him. "I just, um…" he fidgets with the hem of his shirt. 

Michael raises an eyebrow. "Get it out."

Ryan stares at him for a moment, and Michael just stares unblinkingly back.

And fuck this, sometimes you just gotta go.

"Okay." Ryan takes another breath to refill his oxygen supply, then squeezes his eyes tightly shut and lets it all out of him.

"Okay. I'm here because when I woke up yesterday, the only thing that was alive in the house besides me and Carter was some chick that I picked up at a bar and it was just so fucking wrong and I couldn't think of anything else but you, so I went and, like, got pissed and I made myself ramen, but it didn't taste as good as when you make it, so I got pissed again and I gave up and I went to sleep, but I had this fucking terrible dream where I was watching us fighting and then I saw you crying, and Jesus, Michael, I never want to see you cry ever again, and I'm sorry if I made you cry, but fuck, and, like, then I couldn't focus because the smell of you was, like, everywhere, so I got on a bus and here I am and I and so fucking sorry for everything that I did, and I missed you so much."

Ryan opens his eyes a crack to see Michael looking a bit taken aback, mouth slightly open.

"That's why I'm here." Ryan says quietly, because he pretty much just recited to Michael the entire contents of his heart and dammit if that didn't get him somewhere.

Then Michael's just walking out of the kitchen and into the other room, turning his back to Ryan.

 _Oh, shit,_ Ryan thinks, following Michael out.

"Michael? Uh- " He reaches for Michael's shoulder.

"That's why you're here?"

Ryan stops. He swears he just heard Michael's voice crack.

"Um...yeah."

Michael makes a vague motion toward the door.

"You left your stuff out there, didn't you?"

"Yeah…"

Michael's hand travels up to his face, his back still to Ryan.

"Well, go and get it, then."

Ryan raises his eyebrows, confused. "Um, can I…" He clears his throat. "Do you mind if I stay the night?"

Michael just makes another gesture to the door, and Ryan decide to take this as a hopeful yes.

 

"So, I can have the couch?" Ryan asks carefully, looking around for an extra blanket.

Michael hands him a throw, rolling his eyes. "If you must."

Ryan smiles. "Sorry. I forgot to reserve a hotel room."

He tries to meet Michael's eyes, but Michael turns his face away, looking down.

"No, it's fine."

Ryan's heart sinks. He didn't even prepare an official apology speech, despite his choppy attempts on the cab ride, and everything ended up just tumbling out. He wonders if that did more damage then it fixed.

"Okay, well…'night, then." He says, folding the blanket up and then unfolding it, just to busy his hands with something.

"'Night, Ryan."

Michael's eyes finally drift up to meet his, and Ryan suddenly feels like there's not enough air in the room.

He wants so badly for Michael to smile and laugh and kiss him, but instead, Michael just looks away and frowns, then disappears into his own room without a second glance.

 

Ryan tosses and turns on the couch for four hours, Herman grunting displeasedly from his place at the end and eventually leaving in a huff.

At one in the morning, Ryan finally just gives up on trying to sleep and lets his mind take over. He runs through his oration from earlier, wincing at every   
careless phrase, or rather, what was just one huge word barf.

_Could Michael have viewed that as insincere?_

"Shit." Ryan mutters under his breath, because, honestly, that's the best he could do and it's not going to get any more sincere than that coming from him.

_Maybe I didn't apologize directly?_

Ryan groans quietly and sits up, rubbing at his eyes. "Oh, to hell with it." He hisses in the dark, slowly making his way toward Michael's room. He's never going to get anything else accomplished if he doesn't take care of this now, Ryan reasons with himself, but he knows that it's more than just simple logic that's been keeping him awake. It's the realization that life is really fucking hard, maybe even impossible, without Michael, and dammit if Ryan's not going to do absolutely anything to get him back.

He pads silently down the hall and opens Michael's bedroom door without a making single noise, pumping his fist as he steps inside. A square of moonlight falls on Michael's sleeping face, his chest evenly rising and falling, and Ryan's filled with something like want, only much stronger. He can't help but smile.  
Michael shifts onto his side, sighing quietly, and Ryan take a few tentative steps forward until he's at the left side of Michael's bed. He feels his hand reaching out of its own accord, and he's about to run it through Michael's hair when a voice comes out of Michael's mouth.

"I can tell you're there, you know."

Ryan nearly has a heart attack, leaping backward and cracking his head against the wall behind him.

"Jesus lord- "

The faintest smile appears on Michael's lips, and he opens his eyes slowly, observing Ryan with something like amusement. "You're so noisy."

Ryan splutters, heart still pounding. "E- excuse me? I was, like, a ninja!"

"Anyway. What do you want?" Michael says, yawning.

Ryan blushes, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Um…"

Michael sits up, raising his eyebrows. "Well?"

Ryan blushes even harder and coughs. "I…I wanted…"

Michael sighs impatiently, tapping his fingers against the blankets.

"I wanted to sleep in here with you. That's all." Ryan blurts, turning so red that he's sure Michael can see his cheeks in the dark.

There's a long stretch of silence, and Ryan feels his heart literally shatter into pieces when he realizes that he's pretty much unwanted.

"Sorry…" he whispers. "I wasn't going to, like, you know, assault you or something. I just…" he sighs. "Never mind. I'm gonna go back to the couch now."  
Ryan turns away, but he only gets a step before Michael says, "Wait."

Ryan looks back. "What?"

"You want to sleep with me?"

Ryan exhales. "Um, now that I think about it, that sounds kind of awkward, but…yeah. I…" he searches for the right words. "Well, the couch just wasn't so comfortable, and. Yeah."

He hears the sheets sliding down on the other side of the bed, and he almost forgets how to talk. "Uh- "

"Hop in. I don't really mind." Michael yawns, and Ryan nearly falls to his knees and kisses Michael's hands in gratitude.

"Really?" Ryan stops himself from adding in a "jeah" at the end, because that's totally inappropriate, considering the situation. 

"It's fine. But don't, like, rape me."

Ryan smiles to himself and slides carefully in next to Michael, making sure not to touch him. He decides that now might be a better time to talk things over.

"Michael?"

He receives a vague "Mm?" in response.

"Um…so, can we talk now?"

Michael shifts onto his other side to face Ryan, and it feels almost the same as they used to sleep, before their fight, when they would stay up laughing and kissing and just talking about stuff. Ryan misses that too much to stop now.

"What?"

"So, like…I had this dream, right?" Michael nods. Ryan props his chin up on his elbow.

"And, you were, um…you were crying in it."

Ryan braces himself. "Did I make you cry?"

He hears Michael inhale a little sharply. "Um…"

Ryan closes his eyes. "Michael, did I?"

There's a pause, and then Michael sighs. "Yeah." he says quietly. "Yeah, you did."

"Oh…" Ryan wants to reach for Michael's hand under the sheets. "God."

Michael doesn't say anything else right away, just starts messing with a loose string at the end of the blanket.

"I'm really, really sorry." Ryan whispers,and he knows that he means it. "I'm so sorry, Michael."

"It's not a big deal. I'll get over it." Michael murmurs.

"No, but it is. I fucking made you cry, and I feel like a total asshole…" Ryan feels himself getting more and more worked up, but he doesn't care. "…and I actually come in here and sleep next to you, and- "

"Ryan." Michael says softly. "Just forget about it. Okay? What's past is past. You're already here, and I'm fine with you. It's okay."

Ryan looks at Michael, trying to tell if he's just saying that to calm him down. "…Do you forgive me?"

A small laugh comes out of Michael mouth then, and he just looks back at Ryan for a few moments, studying him. Then he smiles, making Ryan's heart beat a little faster, and turns onto his other side, curling up into the sheets. "I'm going to go to sleep now. You should too."

 _WHAT? What is THAT supposed to mean?_ Ryan thinks furiously as Michael sighs contentedly next to him. Damn Phelps, always so mystical and calm as the flowing water. Ryan grumbles and fidgets and squirms and finally settles stiffly onto his back.

He lasts a whole thirty seconds before he wants to go back to their usual positions, but Ryan's a gentleman, and he knows that he needs to ask permission first.

"Michael?"

Michael twists around, one sleepy eye half-open.

"Yeah?"

"Can I, uh…" Ryan motions to Michael's waist, miming putting his arm around it.

Michael rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. "Okay."

Ryan feels a wave of happiness roll through his body, and he wraps an arm around Michael. When he pulls Michael back gently against his chest, Michael doesn't resist, and Ryan just lets himself breathe.

Michael's own breaths even out soon. Ryan smiles, allowing his forehead to rest at the back of Michael's neck.

"Michael, do you forgive me?" he murmurs into Michael's skin, closing his eyes.

Michael's laugh is like a warm blanket of heat, spreading over Ryan's body.

"Yes, I do."

Ryan lets out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Thank you."

But something is still incomplete, and it's like Michael can read his mind, because he turns his face toward Ryan and smiles.

"Just kiss me, you idiot. I know you want- "

Michael doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence, because Ryan's lips are pressed against his, the arm around his waist tightening and pulling him gently closer. Ryan can't help but let his eyes slide closed, pushing his tongue between Michael's opened lips the moment he can. It's been too long since Ryan's tasted those familiar lips against his own, and he can barely control himself. He doesn't intend for it to become a full-blown makeout, but Ryan can tell it's headed in that direction. 

They break apart a little breathlessly, and Ryan reaches up his hand to run the back of it over Michael's cheek, smiling. 

"I, like, really want to continue this, but…"

Michael laughs softly. "We should probably sleep. Actually, though. I'm beat."

"Yeah." Ryan lets his head drop, nuzzling into Michael's neck and kissing the back of it. "I'll see you in the morning, MP."

Michael "mm-hms" and Ryan knows that he's getting tired. He closes his eyes and lets his body relax in Michael's warmth.

Two weeks is too long to shut someone like Michael Phelps out of your life, especially if you're Ryan Lochte.

"I love you, you know." Ryan murmurs into Michael's neck, feeling himself drift closer and closer to sleep.

"I love you, too." Michael says sleepily,and Ryan kisses him one more time before settling back in and falling asleep, a smile still lingering on his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this was longer and fluffier than I expected.


End file.
